


Overtime

by interrobangman



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Playful Sex, Pre-round 2, post-sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interrobangman/pseuds/interrobangman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the downtime between matches, you and McCree spend a moment together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overtime

OK, he was good, great even. The general consensus was that McCree was something of a God, his marksmanship and prowess unmatched. And they were right. He’d just proved, several times over, his unerring abilities as a gunslinger, to hit targets dead-on, repeatedly. His precision was matched by his stamina, but that came natural to someone in his profession.

Not that he’d proved any of that to you out in the field. No, you’d just had an entirely different fight, just the two of you, behind closed doors. You couldn’t tell who won, but then, you couldn’t feel your legs either. McCree certainly looked like he was winning, the smug bastard, with his sly grin. Hell, if losing felt this good, you’d let him win more often.

The quick flick-scrape of a lighter drew your attention back from your thoughts and you turned your head to catch him lighting a cigar. He draws deep, the end burning brightly before he catches your flat look and smirks.

“What?” he asks, his voice a slow drawl, low and chuckling.

“Really?” you respond and he shrugs, puffing smoke out the side of his mouth. Oh, he knew he’d won, the cheeky fucker was celebrating. You let him have his smoke, he’s earned it.

You roll on to your side and glance at the room. There are clothes everywhere, starting at the door and exploding outwards. You can see his poncho under your pants, your shirt tangled up in a belt and a single boot, standing upright by the closet. You see his hat upturned against the bed and reach down to get it when you feel the relatively cool touch of metal grasp you around the arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls playfully as he pulls you back to his side. You roll into him and shove the hat into his face, grinning.

“Getting this,” you tease as he yanks his hat back and puts it on his head. He’s got a smirk on his face as he lowers the rim to shadow his eyes. It’s all the warning you get before he snakes his arm around you, pressing the cold metal against your side and back.

You jump away from it and further onto him with a muttered curse and he’s laughing at you now, hand on your shoulder.

“All’s fair,” he grins and you frown at him. He pulls you in tight and your head is against his side, half under his armpit. “Come now, don’t be mad.”

You struggle out of his grip and come to rest against his chest. “I’m not mad,” you huff and he clucks his tongue.

“Ya sure look it,” he chides, his hand coming up your side and shoulder, sending goose bumps across your skin at the touch. At the back of your head, he starts kneading your scalp, fingers make a mess of your hair. You would chew him out for making knots, but then he already did earlier.

As he starts stroking, you relax against him. The feel of his chest hair against your cheek is oddly comforting and you sigh.

“Better now?” he murmurs, his voice husky. You hum contentedly and press against him. His heart is a steady beat against your ear and an acrid tinge hangs over you as McCree takes a long drag from his cigar, mixing with the smell of his sweat and whatever cologne he wears. It’s an altogether pleasant smell and it’s entirely masculine.

His languid stroking of your hair makes you want to return the favour, so you bring your arm up and place your palm in the center of his chest. Without much rhyme or reason, you begin making slow movements of your own, dipping between his pectorals, circling up and around, brushing over a nipple before coming around his clavicle.

The deep rumbling of approval coming from under you makes you smile lazily as you take your hand lower, to his abs and you feel his chest rise with the sudden intake of air, a quite gasp escaping his lips.

“Hey now,” he mutters, and under the calm of his voice you hear a hint of desire.

“I’m not doing anything,” you say into his skin. Not yet, anyway. He’s just as well defined there as the rest of him, the muscles firm but fluid as he reacts. The lower you go, the more the bristles of his body hair tickle your hand, becoming denser. Just as you reach his belly button, he moans and you glance up to see his eyes half lidded, his brows drawn together, cigar half falling out of his mouth. He might not be saying anything, but the slight lift of his hips is a clear invitation to continue.

You look down and see he’s already getting hard again, bobbing along with the pulse of his heart. His breath hitches up another notch as he watches you draw closer and his dick jumps. With a smirk of your own, you stop your descent, poised to continue. His heartbeat is strong and loud and fast as you inch your hand back up and away.

McCree groans, his head falling back. “You’re being cruel.”

“Maybe,” you snigger. He lifts his head to send begging eyes your way and you can’t help but laugh. It turns into a yelp of surprise when he’s suddenly lifting you on top of him, making you straddle his middle. Slowly, he tosses his hat aside and stamps out the cigar on the side table before gripping you by the thighs, keeping you in place.

From your position, you feel his erection full and hot against you backside and flush slightly when he starts to run his hands up and down, fitting them to your hips. You return the favour and idly play with his nipples, which makes him shiver.

“D’you know what time it is?” he says quite suddenly, looking every bit as devious as he feels. It takes you a second to catch on before you frown.

“If you say its high noon, I’m leaving,” you warn, thumping him on the chest with a fist. It doesn’t do much and he grins lopsidedly at you.

“I was gonna say it’s time for round two.”

Rolling your eyes, you bend down to take a hold of his mouth, the taste of smoke still on his tongue and whisper, “I’m not going to lose, you know.”

“Hm?” he murmurs, confused as you lean back to grab hold of his dick.

“I’m going for a tie, you OP bastard and you can’t stop me.”

With a shake of his head, his hands drop to your crotch. “Then we’ll just have to go into overtime, won’t we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by several late night discussions with my good friend [succubun](http://succubun.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr


End file.
